"That so?" replied Tad, "must have been the same party I saw. Did you see that tall, slender lad with the brown eyes and dark hair?" "Yep, b'lieve I did, come t' think on it, only I didn't pay much pertic'lar 'tention to none of 'em." Tad helped himself to an old chair, and, leaning back against the wall, lighted his pipe. He was quiet for a long time, then he spoke in a slow, thoughtful manner, his pipe held firmly between his teeth, his eyes fixed on a spot far away down the mountain. "Dad, the boy has come. He's come to me, and he's just like his father--tall and straight and clean-cut. Dad, he needs a father, and perhaps I'll have to act in that capacity yet, who knows, for that uncle of his is a rascal and will bear a good deal of watching." "What? Ye don't mean the young feller ye was a tellin' me about the other evenin'? Bill's boy really come to the mountains?" asked Dad, becoming interested at once. "Yes, he's here, Dad, as sure as I'm a living man. He went up this trail this afternoon, and I talked with him. He asked about his father the first thing; said his father owned a mine up here somewhere, and asked me if I knew Tad Kieser." "Shoot me fer a pole-cat. Well, I'll be dum-swizzled, course ye told him Yep, ye knowed him a little, didn't ye?" "No, Dad, I didn't, and that's just what I've come down to talk to you about this evening. You see, it's like this: If I had told him who I was, that would have been the end of it, but if he doesn't really find out who I am for a while yet, perhaps I can locate a paying gold mine for him. I always have felt that I owed him at least that much." "So ye didn't tell him?" pondered Dad. "Well, Tad, yer head is a sight longer'n mine is, an' I s'pose ye know what's best; but, my boy, let me give ye a little advice: If ye wait till ye find a real gold mine in these here parts, the boy's likely as not to die o' old age 'fore ye find it." "Perhaps so, Dad. Perhaps you're right; but then, if I don't ever find it, I won't tell him who I am, because he'd be disappointed. He thinks his father owned a real mine in these mountains somewhere, and he's looking for it. Do you know, I've been wondering--no, it can't be, though; I suppose I'm foolish, but someway, I've always felt that I ought to have been man enough to have worked the old tunnel just a little farther. Bill was so certain that things looked better, and--" "Tad, hain't ye ever been in the old hole sence that day, honest Injun? I used t' think that's where ye went when ye'd go off fer a week er ten days in the hills all by yerself." "No, Dad, I give you my word, I've never been in that hole since the day I carried poor Bill's broken body out. I've never been near since I put that great, heavy lock on the door, and then I dropped the only key into the old shaft. I thought that perhaps some time the temptation to go back in might be too strong, and I'd do it." Both smoked silently for a long time, then Dad spoke: